


The Mountains Are Calling

by MessOfCurls



Series: Wax and Wane [20]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Climbing Class, M/M, Post-Game(s), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessOfCurls/pseuds/MessOfCurls
Summary: “We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven’t you?”“Yes. Sometimes just one time can be enough.”There are worse places to be trapped than Blackwood Mountain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Song rec: Will You Smile Again For Me - ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead

“Sometimes dead is better.”  
(Pet Sematary)

~*~

Drumming his fingers on his knee, Josh retrieved his phone from his pocket. There were no new messages or emails, not that he was expecting any. The number of times he’d checked must have been in double digits, but he needed something to distract him and keep his hands busy. Sitting in the stylish reception, it was the best he had at his disposal.

Josh glanced up at the clock.

Ten thirty-five. Five minutes late.

_Patience…_

Chewing his lip, he gave his phone another cursory check, made sure it was still on silent, and slipped it back into his pocket. Leaning back on the couch, Josh looked around.

He’d visited his dad’s work before so he knew what these kinds of offices were like. The place reeked of success: flash furnishings, expensive decor - subtle, yet intended to impress the right people. It wasn’t new ground by any means, but it was difficult not to be a little bit in awe of it all, especially when Josh knew who was on the other side of the double doors across the room.

Taking a breath, he tried to relax. The hard part was over. He was there in the guy’s office. As far as hurdles went, he’d already cleared the biggest ones. He’d worked hard on his pitch and the initial treatment; spending what little free time he had slaving over it; prepping and polishing until it was finished.

_Finally._

Yes, it had taken a long time - a whole year in the making - but now he actually had something to show for it. And, even more remarkably, after all that work, he’d managed to get a meeting with John Ravera. _The_ John Ravera. John ‘nine-times-Saturn-award-winner’ Ravera: director and producer of ‘Where They Lie’ and fucking ‘Reading Bones’. And Josh was meeting him today, that morning.

_“The guy’s actually won an Oscar for best picture. For horror. The first since The Silence of the Lambs. D’you know how rare that is?”_

_“Alright! I get it! Just don’t be a total fanboy and you'll be fine.”_

With a self-deprecating smirk, Josh reined in his butterflies and tried to follow Sam’s advice. Still, it was difficult being so in awe of someone and playing it cool at the same time. But he was putting himself through this out of choice. He had to remember that.

_“If you’re so worried then why don’t you go to your dad with it?”_

_“I mean… yeah, I could? But…”_

Sure, he could have gone to his dad with the pitch - one of the many perks of being the son of a movie mogul - but it was hard getting an honest opinion, or at least it felt that way. No, having someone objective look at it - an unbiased, fresh set of eyes - was the way to go. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? If Ravera wasn’t interested there were other routes he could go down.

_“Come on, Josh. If he was only helping you out as a favour to your dad then he could do that in an email or a phone call. You know how busy those guys are, and he’s made time for a meeting with you. This is big stuff!”_

Gaze trained on the floor, Josh smiled to himself, remembering the pep talk. Sam was right: Ravera didn’t have to do anything more than a token gesture. And yet there Josh was, finally about to meet one of his idols. The thought was both daunting and reassuring.

Fiddling with the strap of his bag, Josh glanced up at the receptionist. She was still on her computer, the same as before. His gaze drifted to the plush carpet beneath his feet.

The rational part of him hadn’t listened to Sam’s advice when he’d woken up at the crack of dawn. Unable to get back to sleep, he’d spent an hour in front of the bathroom mirror trying to anticipate the inevitable questions, prepping his lines and perfecting the easy-going smile that managed to toe the line between respectful and nonchalant. There was a lot riding on this, but it was all coming together. 

_Hard part’s over, buddy. You’re here. Enjoy it._

“Mr. Washington?”

Josh's thoughtful frown vanished in an instant, replaced by a perfectly executed winning smile. “Hm?”

“Mr. Ravera will see you now.”

 _Focus. You’ve_ got _this._

“Thanks.”

_Fake it till you make it._

~*~

“Joshua?”

The room beyond the doors was everything Josh imagined it would be. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the city, dominating the far wall behind the desk. Bookshelves filled with binders lined the other walls, punctuated in places by props, awards and framed movie posters; each one an image Josh recognised instantly. A casually placed Eames lounge chair and ottoman in the corner. Original Giger and Beksinski prints and lithographs on display. Everything was so perfectly placed and intriguing that, for a moment, Josh was a little overwhelmed by it all.

And there, standing in front of the large desk waiting for him, was Ravera.

It was strange seeing him in the flesh; Josh’s prior experiences of the man limited to photos and videos of interviews. He looked older than Josh imagined with his salt and pepper hair swept back, thick black frames doing little to hide the crow’s feet and laughter lines. Dressing a little younger than his fifty-something years only seemed to highlight his age. But there was a light in the older man’s eyes, a muted enthusiasm that was contagious, and as he shook Josh’s hand, the brunette couldn’t help but match Ravera’s soft smile.

“Mr. Ravera--”

“Please, call me John,” Ravera said, releasing Josh’s hand.

“John. Thank you _so_ much for meeting with me. I've seen all your movies and--”

_Tone it down._

“...Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Ravera gestured to the chair beside him then rounded the desk. “Take a seat.”

Josh settled into the empty chair offered to him with a satisfying creak of leather. After placing his bag on the floor beside him, he sat up to find Ravera looking at him from across the desk.

“You want a water? A coffee?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Ravera gave a ‘suit-yourself’ shrug then fell quiet, and Josh tried not to shift in his seat as the silence opened up. But it wasn’t every day he found himself being regarded by one of his personal heroes.

“Fuck, you’re young,” Ravera said finally.

“Not much I can do about that,” Josh joked, his smile growing crooked as Ravera looked back at him, amused.

“Are you still in college?”

“Finally finished last year. I had to retake a year, but… yeah, I’m done. I’ve interned at a few places,” Josh continued, feeling a little more at ease. “I was with Antony Fromer for six months after I graduated.”

“Oh yeah? How was that?”

“It was...” Josh paused to consider his words. He wasn’t sure how well the two men knew each other and he’d be damned if he fucked this up because he’d accidentally trash-talked the guy’s best friend. “...interesting. He’s very passionate about his job.”

At that, Ravera chuckled. “That’s a diplomatic way of putting it.”

“I try.”

The pair shared a knowing smile. It seemed that Ravera had experienced Fromer first-hand, after all.

“Enough small talk. Let’s get down to it.” Turning in his chair, Ravera rifled through the thick stack of papers and manuscripts on his desk and retrieved one that Josh recognised. “Your pitch.”

Josh chewed his lip while Ravera flicked through a few pages before setting it down on the desk in front of him. Belatedly, Josh noticed he was leaning forward in his seat. He corrected himself, sitting up straighter, waiting with bated breath.

“I liked it. Good premise, strong plot, nice twist. I really like the way you’ve played around with old tropes in a new way. It’s good. Solid.”

Josh could barely hide his relief. “Thank you. That’s… thanks.”

“Okay, so let’s drill down into this a little.”

“Cool. I mean, yeah. Yes, of course,” Josh said, reaching for the laptop in his bag, but Ravera stopped him.

“Don’t worry about getting this down. I’ll forward you my notes.”

Overwhelmed by the idea that horror legend John Ravera had bothered to make notes on his work, Josh nodded mutely and put his bag down.

“First, the title.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s good. Short and catchy. Ominous. Works on a marquee. I just wondered if you were sold on it.”

“I’m open to changes,” Josh offered.

“Good. Alright. Maybe put a pin in that for now. So.” Ravera picked up the papers and adjusted his glasses. “Act one is good. We’ve got the teens, the backstory, the return to the lodge. That all works and lays a nice foundation. Then, later, the twist.”

“You liked it?”

“I did. Only…” Ravera’s brow furrowed pensively as he put his thoughts in order. He met Josh’s eye. “What I don’t quite understand is the antagonist’s motivation.”

“Well, his sisters--”

“Sure, his sisters are dead, that much I’m on board with. It’s a valid reason, I get it. But then, why go after his best friends rather than the kids who actually pulled the prank that caused their deaths?”

“They’re the heroes,” Josh said without missing a beat, as if it was obvious, but paused uncertainly when Ravera merely lifted his eyebrows in response. The older man remained quiet, giving Josh room to elaborate.

_You’ve got this, come on._

“Because he wants to make them the heroes. That’s what he wants them to be.”

“Go on.”

_“Whatever you say, say it with conviction. If you’re not sure about it, why should he be?”_

With his father’s words in mind, Josh began again.

“So… they’re his best friends, and even though he’s really messed up about what happened, he still wants to put them up there on a pedestal. Make their experience _mean_ something. I think he does kinda blame them in a misguided sort of way. But deep down, he still cares about them. He wants them to win.”

“Okay.” Ravera nodded and, unless Josh was mistaken, looked just a tiny bit impressed. “Okay, I think I follow.”

Ravera’s fingers returned to the manuscript, leafing through the pages. “So, second and third acts? Yes. Bring on the real peril, the ‘oh shit’ moments. That all reads well. I’ve got a few suggestions - minor points - but we can go into them later.” 

_Later?_

That had to be a good sign. Fighting back a grin, Josh managed a vague sound of agreement and watched the pages turn, catching glimpses of Ravera’s scribbled notes. Eventually, the older man’s hand stilled.

“Overall, yes, I like it. It’s strong.”

_Fuck._

Ravera liked it. He actually fucking liked it.

_Fuck fuck fuck!_

Unsure what to say, Josh was rendered silent. Finally, he found his voice. “Thank you. That’s uh...” He swallowed, smiling relief. “Thank you.”

“There’s just one thing troubling me about it.”

Of course it was too good to be true.

“Yeah?” Josh asked, masking his disappointment behind what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“The ending.”

“What about it?”

“So, your protagonist…” Ravera glanced at his notes. “...Chase?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He gets the girl. Your leading lady saves the day. Sure, good. But what about Jason?”

“What about him?”

“He goes missing and that’s it? We don’t see what happens to him?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Potentially, yes. Viewers like closure, good or bad. Leaving it vague and open-ended?” Ravera’s face screwed up sceptically. “ _Sometimes_ that works. But I guarantee if we ran it by a test audience, they’d want some answers. Redemption or revenge… either way, people want closure.”

“Right, I see.”

The truth was that Josh had been troubling over that plot point for a while. There were a few ideas he’d toyed around with but, if he was honest, none of them seemed like the right fit. Leaving it undetermined felt like a bit of a cop out, but he hadn’t known exactly where to go in terms of something more concrete.

“I guess I’m still figuring it out,” Josh admitted sheepishly.

“Hey, it’s not a deal breaker. Something to work on. See what you can do with it.”

“I will, thanks.”

“So,” Ravera leaned back in his chair, “where do we go from here?”

“You tell me.”

Ravera threw him a smile. “Well, I know some writers with a few projects under their belts who I think would be good for this. They’re still pretty green but they have a lot of potential. I could put you in touch. Maybe help you work on it, see if we can get a second treatment finished.”

Josh blinked. “...Really?”

“Really. This thing right here?” Ravera tapped the manuscript with his fingertips. “It’s got legs.”

Josh took a breath and felt his smile broaden as he exhaled. “You honestly don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. Your dad speaks very highly of you and now I see why.”

“Runs in the family, I guess?” Josh gave Ravera a modest shrug and another crooked smile.

“Apparently so,” Ravera chuckled and pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. Sitting forward in his seat, he rested on his elbows and leaned in conspiratorially. “Now that we’re done with formalities, let me pitch something to _you_.”

_I’m dreaming. I’ve got to be fucking dreaming._

“Sure. I'm all ears.”

“I’m thinking you could do something different with this. A move away from CGI, something old school.”

Josh considered it for a moment.

_Time to shine._

“How old school? Like, a Rob Bottin, Brian Johnson kind of thing?”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Ravera said, eyes lighting up. “Good old fashioned practical effects. It’s always been my preference but most studios don’t want to bother with it anymore. They’ve got in-house guys on computers and yes, that’s great. But there’s something about feeling like you can really hold onto what you’re seeing, like you can touch it. It’s tangible, you know?”

“Tactile,” Josh ventured.

“Yes, exactly! Tactile.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, that sounds _awesome_. Do you know--”

A sudden cough cut Josh’s words short. He struggled with it for a moment, waiting for it to stop, but every time he cleared his throat it came back in full force.

“Are you okay?”

The coughing lulled momentarily and Josh smiled weakly, blinking through watering eyes. He could feel the colour spreading over his cheeks, caused in no small part by embarrassment.

“I’m fine,” he managed, wiping his eyes, but no sooner had the words left his mouth, the coughing started up anew.

_Fuck, not now!_

“Rachel, can you please fetch some bottled water or something?”

Josh barely heard the receptionist’s reply through the intercom over the sound of his own coughing. Getting to his feet, Josh raised a hand and tried to make a show of being fine, but he didn’t feel fine. He steadied himself on the desk.

“Josh?”

He lifted his gaze.

It was dark beyond the windows. Night had fallen and the city lights were going out, one by one, until only the darkness remained; blank and ominous like a dead TV screen.

“I’m--”

The ceiling light flickered once, then twice, throwing eerie shadows around the large office. Finally, they turned off.

“Joshua?”

Darkness. Inside and out.

“I--”

~*~

Josh's lungs protested every ragged breath, opening his eyes. On instinct, he pressed a dirt-streaked hand to his mouth as the cough rumbled harshly in his chest; wheezing so hard that his head throbbed and swam. But he couldn't make it stop.

_Wha... is… where m’I…?_

Fuck, it hurt. Most things hurt now, and what didn't hurt was unsettlingly numb; deadened; too cold for frazzled nerves to relay their complaints. His wounded shoulder itched beneath the layers of scavenged clothes and his arm felt too tight, too stiff. But there was nothing he could do about that, either.

_Where--_

A faraway screech cut through his thoughts and had him clutching his mouth with frostbitten fingers, eyes wide with terror as he desperately fought back the cough until he was spluttering and shaking with the effort, lungs raw and aching in his chest.

_Gotta stop, oh God, oh fuck, gotta stop or…_

Finally, he stilled; reduced to rasping breaths that clouded the air in front of him. He strained his ears and listened.

Nothing. Alone again. For how long, he didn't know.

Shuddering, Josh tried to catch his breath.

She hadn’t come back. Not since she’d plucked him from the water, dragging him off to place him amid the fangs of rock until a distant howl called her away. She was there, he'd seen her - alive and real and terrible - and now she was gone again. But she wasn't alone. He'd seen the others and what they were capable of, what they'd done to that man's body…

With a whimper, Josh pulled the blood-stained coat up around himself and tucked his legs under it the best he could, shivering. Head pressed against the rock, knees hugged to his chest, he swallowed and groggily tried to make sense of it all.

_Another dream._

He was still there, same as before. Same as he'd always been, or at least it felt that way. The realisation was a crushing weight in the pit of his stomach. With a shaky sigh, he looked down at his trembling hands, host to prickling skin and the makings of blisters. The fingerless gloves he’d taken - reluctantly pilfered - did little to help.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled as a croaky afterthought.

It would be okay. He’d return them to her. When it was all over, he’d give them back and…

_All over?_

With a troubled frown, Josh brushed the thought away. He wasn’t thinking straight, but it was difficult to when his head was light and heavy; full and empty all at once. It didn't feel right, any of it. 

_Everything has to end eventually._

It was an undeniable truth he’d learned beneath the mountain; the only thing he knew for certain anymore.

But it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t supposed to end like _this_.

Lids heavy, Josh gave in to the urge and closed his eyes.

No, Josh hadn't found his ending yet, hadn’t been able to figure it out. But that didn't mean it wasn't coming, whether from the relentless cold or the nightmares that lurked in the shadows and called the mines their home.

He'd learned early on to keep his distance. To keep hidden when he could and force his trembling body to still when he had no choice but to hide in plain sight. He'd learned just how far sound carried within the cavernous underbelly of the mountain. To keep quiet, even when every fibre of his being was begging to scream in the face of the fresh horrors unfurling right before his eyes, or when the hunger gnawing at his insides became too much and had him whining as it slowly drove him mad. Lost beneath the earth, his eyes had become accustomed to the dark recesses and dim caverns, and he saw farther through the gloom than before. Whenever the creatures returned, he wished he couldn’t.

Yes, he'd learned a lot, but knowledge came at a price. Clarity was the first victim, but it was a welcome sacrifice that rendered his new existence blurry at the edges, making it easier to stomach. Next to go in increments was his belief in his surroundings - a calming denial that stopped his mind from tearing itself in two. As the hours turned to days turned to weeks, his memory began to suffer. With nobody to reminisce with, memories became hazy; doubtful reconstructions that only hurt him when he thought on them too much until he simply didn't anymore. He didn't want to remember the things he'd done.

He was always making sacrifices now. Every day, whether he knew it or not. At first, he'd looked up, pleading with whatever had trapped him there to release him from this hell. Now, he barely lifted his gaze.

Day by day, he was losing that last piece of himself - little splinters of it chipped away by circumstance even though he'd locked it up so carefully inside a heart slowly freezing over with encroaching ice. But some things you just couldn’t hold onto like that, no matter how hard you tried.

Hope. That was one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song rec: All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands - Sufjan Stevens

_“I’m only laughing on the outside. My smile is just skin deep. If you could see inside, I’m really crying. You might join me for a weep."_

_(Batman)_  

~*~

Whitecourt. Coronation. Alliance.

Princess. Champion. Viking.

Clusters of text surrounded the large print that marked the centres, spidering out from urban hubs. They thinned and followed the paths of pale rivers and red roads, skirting the banks of water pockets dotted here and there.

High River. Long View. Whiskey Gap.

Deadwood. Loon Lake. Bend.

Chris never usually took the time to read the names. His phone eliminated the need, sparing him from anything other than the essentials as it plotted his course from A to B. Without his phone, he was left sifting through places he’d never been to, probably never would, their unfamiliar names littering the page.

His dad collected maps; it was his thing. He had maps of shipping lanes and trade routes, older local maps with quaint names, world maps with shifting borders and countries that didn’t exist anymore. He used to keep one in the car, still did. Even after they bought the satnav, he kept a dog-eared map in the glove compartment, struggling on with it like he was a pioneer instead of a middle-aged man stuck in a nine to five.

Chris had never seen the appeal. But there was something nostalgic about the roadmap before him, reminding him of long trips to visit relatives out of town. He still remembered the arguments his parents had about directions. No, not arguments. Disagreements, according to his mom.

His parents.

Chris swallowed, eyes scanning the page.

Shelter Bay. Little Fort. Rosebud.

Condor. Elk Point. Clyde.

With his phone, he’d know about these places, where to stay and where to eat. With the aid of satellites and live traffic reports, he'd know how long it would take to get there down to the minute. Bereft of technology, he felt disconnected and naked, its absence felt acutely.

The police had given it back to him after rifling through it, checking his messages and searching for intent. They'd done the same with his computer, his college books, hell, everything in his room that wasn't nailed down. But he'd left his phone behind, his choice this time. He couldn't risk being followed, couldn't leave any tracks. Without it, he was a ghost.

He doubted he'd get much signal now anyway.

Fox Creek. Two Creeks. Three Creeks.

Blue River. Redcliff. Green Court…

An uneven strip of green ran diagonally across the page, straddling the province border. Chris followed it from left to right, northwest to southeast.

His gaze settled on a small triangle, a mountain according to the map legend. The text above it was smaller still, belying its scale.

...Blackwood.

No. He didn’t need to know all the names. Just one.

“Where are you heading?”

“Huh?”

Chris looked up from the table with a start and found himself face to face with his reflection, made dark and warped by a round glass coffee pot. He followed it up past an off-white apron and ample bosom and met the waitress’ friendly smile with a confused frown. She looked to be in her forties, though her eyes aged her. But they weren’t unkind, the question genial enough.

“On a road trip?” she asked. “I know a lot of faces around here, so I'm always curious about people passing through.”

Chris managed a smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Yeah, something like that.”

She smiled, the gesture genuine. “Not many people pass through here till the weather picks up. You got friends up here?”

She wasn't wrong. Besides the lone man drinking coffee at the counter and the couple eating breakfast by the far window, the other tables were empty. There was only one other car parked out front, no foot traffic. It was why Chris had chosen it; quiet but not too quiet, where he wouldn’t be remembered.

“Yeah…” He met her eye and tried harder to sound casual, but it felt forced. “Still a way off but making some ground.”

Satisfied enough with his answer, the waitress glanced at his plate, pushed aside to make room for the map. “Can I get you anything else?”

Chris flashed another weak smile, shook his head, and lowered his gaze. When he first sat down he’d been ravenous, but the feeling passed after a few meagre bites and most of his meal remained, his appetite killed by the anxious knot in his stomach. The food was good but he couldn’t face it, half-eaten eggs and barely-touched flapjacks growing colder by the second. Comfort food that gave little comfort.

“No, thank you.”

He expected her to leave, hoped she would, but sensed her presence beside him.

“Hiking?” she asked.

Chris followed her gaze to the backpack on the seat beside him. She wasn’t trying to pry; he could tell she was just being friendly or hoped at least. Still, he wished she’d leave. He’d prepared for questions, but was rarely asked to divulge so much. Despite his practised answers, he felt unprepared.

He was quiet for a moment then went to speak, almost ready to recite his story. But another voice answered for him.

“Hunting.”

Chris and the waitress turned as one toward the voice, and Chris felt a surge of relief to see Mike standing behind his empty chair, returned from the restroom.

The waitress eyed the newcomer curiously. “Hunting?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re meeting up with friends,” Mike said cheerily, corroborating the lie.

"You boys?" The waitress glanced at a younger woman behind the counter, and the pair shared quizzical smiles, the younger of them smirking before returning to her task of refilling napkin dispensers. "No offence, but I'd never take you for the outdoor types."

Again, the waitress was right. Their clothes were mainly new, their unscuffed boots and outerwear purchased for the trip, price tags removed barely two days prior. They looked like tourists; that’s how the women saw them, Chris was sure of it.

Mike glanced down at himself, smiled, and gave a self-deprecating huff. “Is it that obvious?”

"A little."

Feeling more at ease, Chris matched their smiles, in on the joke. Mike was good at this stuff. Light and breezy. Smooth as ever. Confident. He made it look so easy.

Good.

Still smiling, Mike’s gaze flicked to the doorway, returning to the waitress so quickly that it could easily be missed.

It was a momentary lapse, but Chris caught it. He glanced sidelong at the door and felt his stomach tighten again when he saw who had caught Mike's eye. She was wrapped up warm, but there was no mistaking the duty belt around her waist or the insignia on her sleeve.

“Good luck with that. Buck season doesn't start till September,” the waitress said.

Chris watched the patrolwoman from the corner of his eye, sneaking glimpses as she gave the girl behind the counter a familiar nod and took a seat, pulling off her gloves.

“Geese is the plan," Mike said, slipping effortlessly back into the conversation. When the waitress didn't reply, inviting more, he continued. "It’s a friend’s bachelor thing. I doubt we’ll be shooting much of anything.”

At that, the woman’s smile lessened a little, replaced with concern and a hint of disapproval. “Well, be careful. Guns and drinking do not mix. Just ask my brother-in-law."

“Is that right?” Mike asked, eyes tired but warm. “We’ve got a guide booked. I’m sure they’ll keep us out of trouble.”

“See that they do,” she said, warming again. She looked at Chris then back to Mike. “You sure I can’t get you anything else?”

Mike glanced at the coffee and seemed to consider it, but Chris suspected the gesture was for show. Beneath the facade he looked weary, eyes marked by fatigue that no amount of cheerfulness could disguise. Resting his right hand on the back of the chair, Mike softly shook his head. “Would love to, but we've got a full day’s drive before we can put our feet up. How much do we owe?”

The waitress gave him a smile and a nod then took her leave, returning to the counter.

Chris and Mike exchanged glances in her absence. The tension returned, subtle but present.

“Your wallet?” Mike asked.

Chris patted his pockets.

_Fuck._

“In the car.”

A flash of irritation crossed Mike's face, but he recovered quickly. He felt around in his back pocket with his right hand, his left stubbornly dug into his jacket pocket. Without a word, he tossed his wallet onto the table.

The waitress returned and placed the bill on the table, and Chris busied himself with paying it while Mike chatted with her. He tipped generously but not too much, nothing memorable, watching them exchange pleasantries as he folded the map, got to his feet and pulled on his coat.

After thanking her again, Mike said his goodbyes and Chris followed suit, numbly parroting the words. Resisting the urge to look at the counter, he followed Mike to the door, going through the motions and trying to keep calm.

The cold hit him as they stepped outside and headed for the car. It wasn't snowing, but a few inches remained, cleared away and pushed back to the outer walls of the building, reduced to dirty white heaps and grey slushy tire tracks.

Chris paused, wincing as uneven ground sent a twinge up his leg. Someone had laid grit, but it was still a challenge to walk, even now.

“Keep walking…” Mike murmured, slowing but not stopping.

Chris started off again, stiff ankle throbbing as he tried to disguise his slight limp. In a few paces, he caught up. They were nearly out of there, almost done.

"Excuse me! Hey, wait!"

Chris stopped, a sharp pang of fear in his chest. He looked at Mike and saw the flash of panic in his eyes.

What had they done wrong? At that moment, Chris couldn't be sure. If the patrolwoman had questions for them, they could answer; they knew their lines. They were close to the car, but not close enough.

It had been easy to get what they needed; the basics were simple enough, bought from online stores, emptying their modest savings to fund the trip. The car was legit; a cheap rental paid for with cash. If she asked to look inside, she'd see the coloured climbing rope neatly gathered up, coiled around flashlights and walkie-talkies, innocent enough. But the rest?

Mike’s father didn't collect maps. He liked to hunt, was good at it. According to Mike, he'd taken him out when he was younger, but he didn't have a taste for it, much to his old man's disappointment. His gun collection was extensive, but the three they’d taken were sure to be missed. Heavy duty.

Not for geese.

They had paperwork for the weapons. Armed with fake permits and fake smiles, Chris had thought they'd be okay; they’d got this far after all. But what if it wasn't enough?

Mike turned, and Chris followed suit, smiles back in place.

_Oh, thank fuck._

The younger woman stood a few paces from the doorway, looking cold in her sleeveless work shirt. With one arm wrapped around herself, she held up Chris' backpack. "You forgot this."

Chris laughed relief then bit it back. "Oh..."

Mike broke into a slow jog and returned to fetch it. He took it from her and slung it over his shoulder, letting out a breath of laughter that fogged the air. “Not gonna get far without that. Thank you.”

“Alright. You have a good day now.” The girl smiled at them, suppressing a shiver.

Mike waited until she'd returned to the warmth of indoors then walked on ahead, rounding the car to the passenger side. He got in and dumped Chris' bag on the back seat behind him without ceremony.

Chris sat down in the driver's seat and closed the door as Mike did the same. He looked over and watched the humour drain from Mike's face with sobering swiftness, smile vanishing as if it was never there.

In the safety of the car, Mike pulled his hand free from his pocket and fastened his seat belt with maimed fingers. Sighing, he placed his hand on his lap. "Drive."

Chris thought to protest but stopped himself. He'd tried to share the load, taking the wheel whenever his ankle allowed, but it was hard work. With his leg aching from toe to knee, the hours ahead would feel like an eternity. Mike had done the bulk of the driving, Chris couldn't deny that, but then Mike was able to.

Mike read the thoughts written on Chris' face and gave a grave, joyless smile. His voice was soft and humourless. “We’ll pull over and switch when we’re out of here. Just…” He sighed again and leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes. Blinking, he turned to the window and looked out at the dull grey sky. “Just drive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: @messofcurls-creative

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @messofcurls-creative


End file.
